


Stars

by SophiaCatherine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: (established captain canary and getting together for rogue canary), (resolved with a happy ending), F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Lian Yu Island (Arrow TV 2012), M/M, Multi, Some Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: “It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing that you can come out and ask the guy that you’re seeing, casually. ‘Hey, Len, how long have you been in love with Mick Rory?’” She pauses, imagining the scene. The look on Leonard’s face as she asks over cards and whiskey. His deflecting half-answer, the confirmation she’s not sure she wants. “Oh yeah, that’s nice and... casual.”After crash landing on Lian Yu, Sara, Len and Mick have to face some feelings. And they're so good at that...





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueelvewithwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/gifts).



> “You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars.” - Gary Allan
> 
> For Aurelia - to thank you for writing me several really great prompts recently!

Lian Yu.

 _Lian_ _fucking Yu._

Sara’s been to hundreds of places throughout time and across the whole world, and she can’t think of a worse one to wake up in.

She’s lying on her back on soft ground, the damp seeping in through something spread out below her - a parachute. Half-light and long shadows; shafts of pale sunlight filtering through a green canopy. Her blurred vision very slowly sharpens as she blinks up into treetops. It could be any forest, on any spring day. But it’s the smell of this place, the feel of it - moss and damp and dead things. She knows where she is.

It all comes back to her in a shock of memory. The jump ship falling out of the time stream. Spinning over the ocean, control displays fuzzy with static.

Plunging toward the water.

(ohgodnotagain)

Grabbing the controls; fighting the ship into a crash landing. Thinking fast enough to press the eject button.

Sara gasps for breath at the pain stabbing through her hip. She runs her hand along her side - it comes away stained crimson. Lifting her jacket, wincing, she finds the once-blue shirt underneath soaked in red.

She bites down, hard - there’s no one here to suppress the screaming for, but it’s habit - and pulls her jacket off, slowly. Every little jolt _burns._ Balling the jacket up, she presses it tight against her side. Lets her head drop back to the earth, breathing a little easier. It hurts like fuck, but at least she’s less likely to die in the next few minutes.

She needs the jump ship and a med kit. Another attempt at lifting her head doesn’t go well - she can’t see any sign of the ship before the forest spins and her head falls again.

There was someone else on that ship with her. Why can’t she remember...

As darkness slides over her again like a heavy blanket, she hears weak cursing. Hers.

* * *

**The Waverider, Four Months Earlier**

“It’s not like I can just come out and _ask,”_ Sara whines.

“Why not?” Amaya spins her bo staff, feet planted steady on the ground as Sara circles her.

Sara tries to focus on watching for any slip, any flaw in Amaya’s defense where she can slide in and take her down. “It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing that you can come out and ask the guy that you’re seeing, casually. ‘Hey, Len, how long have you been in love with Mick Rory?’” She pauses in her movements, imagining the scene. The look on Leonard’s face as she asks over cards and whiskey. His deflecting half-answer, the confirmation she’s not sure she wants. “Oh yeah, that’s nice and... casual.”

Amaya’s narrowed gaze breaks briefly into a grin. “You’ve known them, what, a year? I still can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

Sara snorts. “Oh, and I guess you figured it out in ten minutes?”

An amused eyebrow raises. “You have _seen_ how they look at each other, yes?”

Yeah. Sara’s seen it. Maybe she’s been lying to herself from the beginning about what that look means. About what that connection is between them, with their almost-thirty-year history. Their shared stories. Their synchronized movements. Their backgrounds, different but echoing each other - so alike for two such opposite people.

They have more in common than she could ever share with Len.

With an impressive flip forward, Amaya is in Sara’s space, taking advantage of her lapse in concentration. For a while the only sound in the room is the clack of metal on metal. Amaya doesn’t usually fight with the bo staff, but any weapon in her hands becomes a master tool, a thing of beauty. Vixen takes the ‘art’ in ‘martial art’ to a whole new level.

“You need,” Amaya says, voice punctuated by panting, “to talk to him.”

“Thanks. I’m aware,” Sara gasps out between slams of her staff across Amaya’s.

Then the world spins. Sara lands hard on her back, looking up at a wryly triumphant Amaya.

Who reaches down and offers her a hand. “That was a little too easy. It’s almost like you’re distracted.”

Sara groans as she stands, rubbing her back gingerly. “You making a point, beyond the gloating, Jiwe?”

There’s a kind hand on her shoulder, and Sara looks up into sympathetic brown eyes. “Only that something like this could get in the way of a real fight, if you’re not careful, Sara. You’re new to this captain thing, but I’m sure you know that.”

Sara sighs. The dull pain shooting through her shoulders is reassuring, familiar. “I know.”

“Talk to him,” Amaya says again. “And maybe to Mick, too. This might not be as complicated as you think.”

But, as she tries to ignore the knot of dread in her stomach, Sara doubts that.

* * *

**Lian Yu, Now**

Someone’s calling her name. Loud and urgent, like something’s wrong, but she can’t remember what. She opens her eyes again. Strains to listen, over the sound of the wind in the trees, for that slowly approaching call, bringing her salvation - or her death.

She’s never been too clear about the difference.

It’s Len’s voice. And, oh god, he can’t be here. Nothing good happens to the people she cares about in this place.

The crunch of running feet over the forest floor, fast and desperate, and then he’s at her side. “You found me,” she murmurs, breathing a little easier, because he’s here. Never mind that she doesn’t want him to see her like this.

“Of course, birdie.” His uncertain hands are shaking around her.

“Think I landed badly,” she croaks.

His hands go still, eyes widening as he takes in the blood.

She nods at the Waverider-gray bag slung across his body. “Please tell me that’s a med kit.”

“Yeah," he says in a grim voice. "Gonna need you to talk me through it, assassin.” 

She coughs a wet laugh. “What makes you think I’ve got any more medical experience than you?”

“Because you survived on an island for what I assume was a not-insignificant length of time… And you’re still alive.” He’s drawling hard, not looking at her, rustling in the bag. Almost successful at convincing himself he’s not afraid. His own survival skill.

“So are you, and I‘ve seen your bullet scars.” She manages a grin. “And unlike you, I actually died.”

He glances at her with a familiar smirk - just briefly, but it’s reassuring. “I’d love to keep debating this, but you might kick the bucket first, so we should get this over with.” He pulls out a couple of sealed packets and offers them to her, keeping an oddly gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what to do, Sara.”

She scans them, never more grateful for that field emergency medical training Rip gave her a while back. “Okay. The shot first - anesthetic. Then you need to stitch up the wound. But you’ve got to do it _fast._ There’s a good chance I‘ll fight you once you start.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “Don’t ask.”

 _No, no, no,_ her brain keeps chanting, while she’s coldly talking him through it. Pretending this is about someone else.

She can see his look of recognition, when everything starts going tight and fuzzy, when she starts shaking - but he's quickly back to focusing on the stitches with a stone-cold expression. She’s grateful he doesn’t make a fuss, doesn’t so much as ask if she’s okay. She’s not, and there’s nothing to be done but stick her with the damn needle and not make anyone have to lie about the shit they’re reliving right now, stuck back on this _fucking island, the wreck of the Amazo sitting just around the bay…_

But Gideon’s painkillers are good, and at least she doesn’t feel it. Long seconds pass while she wraps her arms around herself, waiting to make sure the bleeding has stopped. Then waiting a little longer for everything else to stop, too.

“Sara,” he murmurs, too softly, and she stares down at the damp rocks at her feet. He’s crouching in front of her, clenching and unclenching a fist like he’s in two minds about whether to touch her. She’s almost glad he doesn’t. “This _is_ your island, isn’t it?” he asks grimly. She just nods.

After a few more impossibly slow minutes, the panic starts to lift like a rising curtain and she nods up at Len. She tries to let him pull her to her feet… and curses, sliding back down. “My leg. I think it’s broken. And I’m worried about internal bleeding,” she adds, slipping back into the tight order and calm of the Waverider captain’s role. It helps.

He sighs, dropping back down next to her. “Got a plan?”

“There are herbs growing here that can heal pretty much any illness, or so I’ve heard. They should keep infection away and make sure I don’t die of something we can’t treat. But it’s a case of finding them…”

He snorts. “Seriously? _Any_ illness? How very _convenient.”_

Sara raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think this is the best time to be cynical about that?”

He tilts his head. “You calling me cold, Canary?”

Sara raises an eyebrow at him. “Leonard, if you’re trying to cheer me up by making me laugh, then A, not the best way to help someone with broken bones and possible internal injuries, and B, that was barely a pun and it wasn’t funny.”

He winks at her. “Ooh. Frosty.”

She puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, shut up,” she says, muffled.

Before he can answer, Sara goes still at the sound of heavy footsteps trudging over breaking twigs.

Leonard is up with his cold gun raised in less than a second.

* * *

**The Waverider, Three Months Earlier**

Sara doesn’t talk to him.

It’s Len. He thinks feelings are like the sun - unfortunately necessary, but best not looked at directly.

It’s just one more thing he shares with Mick Rory.

And, anyway, this is all too new, too fragile. And she’s… _happy,_ okay? Something that, after the League, after she ended things with Nyssa, she didn’t think she ever would be again. That damn asshole is becoming really important to her.

So, no, she doesn’t talk to him.

And then she wakes up in his room one morning, weeks later - turns over in bed to find him with his head propped up on one hand, smiling at her.

These are the moments she loves, when things are quiet and easy, when the look in his eyes says everything he can’t always, with words. She leans up and kisses him.

“Good morning,” he says in that gorgeous drawl, deep blue eyes sparkling. “Coffee?”

She stretches and sighs. “I’ll get it. Otherwise I’ll never move.” She smiles and kisses him again, a slow, soft meeting of lips. Still hesitant, in these early days of their relationship, but stirring with the thrill of something new and full of promise. “Mmm. This is too perfect.”

 _You’re too perfect,_ she almost says.

Don’t look directly at it.

He lounges back against the headboard. “Well, I’m not saying no to a beautiful woman who wants to bring me coffee in bed on a lazy morning.” His smile turns just a little evil. “And I hear the captain doesn’t have a single appointment today.”

She matches his narrow-eyed stare. “If you’re stalking me with Gideon’s help...”

“Is it my fault if you’re so busy that a guy has to get an AI’s help to schedule time with you? Now, if we can just get a disaster-free day with no emergency missions, that would really help.”

She hits him with a pillow, groaning. “I can’t believe you said it.”

He smirks. “I defy the Waverider tradition. Nathaniel and Raymond are not drumming this silly superstition into all of us.”

She laughs, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Give me ten. I’m going to the bathroom first. Knowing my luck, there’s gonna be a six-person line.” At the door she looks up and adds, “You know, I’m almost sure Gideon could find me bigger quarters and my own bathroom. I think she’s just messing with me for her own entertainment.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Captain,” comes Gideon’s deadpan voice.

She throws up her hands in a _see?_ gesture at an amused Len.

There’s no line, but the ‘occupied’ light is on. Sara settles herself against the wall, kicking idly back against it. Her head is running through plans for a whole day with Len. Maybe she’ll get him off the ship, somewhere quiet where they can bring a picnic. She hasn’t sat and looked at the stars for years - maybe not since... the Amazo, and Lian Yu. They were so beautiful there, out on the desolate edge of the world, even with no one to share them with. She hums aloud at the bad idea - but intriguing fantasy - of taking Leonard to the island, just the two of them and the stars and the chance to make one good memory of that place.

A moment later, the door flies open, and she comes face to face with Mick Rory.

In the tense silence that follows, Sara’s suddenly very aware that she hasn’t been alone with him in months. Probably not since she sat in Chronos’s cell, and he looked at her with calculating eyes that weighed her soul and found it wanting. Now she can’t read anything in his fierce gaze, can’t tell if it means hate or rage or jealousy.

And then she catches an unlikely glint of something profoundly sad in his eyes, there and gone again, and his gaze drops to the floor. “Bathroom’s all yours, Captain,” he says, and walks away.

She suddenly doesn’t want a day out.

She apologises to Len. The time seismometer couldn’t have gone off at a worse time, she says. Promises she’ll make it up to him.

* * *

**Lian Yu, Now**

“Fuck,” says the unmistakeable sound of an approaching Mick Rory, and Sara relaxes. He crouches down beside her. “You okay?”

She shrugs. “I will be, if I can make it back to the jump ship. I need Gideon.” She looks up at Len, silent on her right. In her own panic, she hadn’t noticed him turning pale, skin glistening with cold sweat. Been a while since anyone’s cared enough to be afraid for her. “Hey, crook,” she says softly.

As she reaches out for him, he pulls away and tilts his head, walls visibly snapping back up. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to blow this joint, and you’ve got most of the relevant expertise. So let’s get going, shall we?” He nods at Mick.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever understand how Len and Mick do that - their silent conversations, over in seconds. It must come from years of having each other’s backs in some grim situations. Leonard’s told her about how they survived juvie, prison, life on the run, and a dozen other tough spots together. Till they were perfectly synchronized. Not like… She blinks that thought away, because this isn’t the damn time.

She gives Mick a doubtful look when he offers his shoulder for her to throw her arm over. He grins at her, thumbing in Len’s direction. “You shoulda seen how many times I lifted him out of burning warehouses and dragged him through fire-fights when he was injured. Come on.” She sighs, draping her arm over his shoulder, flinching at the pain that bites through her leg when he starts moving a little too fast. “Sorry. Nice and easy,” he says, softer than she’s used to hearing from him. It’s sweet.

And then she feels Len sliding in under her other arm. “On three,” he warns, and she nods. Letting them all but carry her a couple of steps forward.

“How’s that feel, boss?” Mick asks, and he’s talking to her.

She tests another step. “Safe.”

When she glances over at Len, he smiles at her.

And because that sounded far too sappy, she adds, “You drop me, I’ll kill you both.”

Mick guffaws.

* * *

**The Waverider, Two Months Earlier**

Leonard Snart is confused.

He’s also a little pissed off, if he cared to admit it. Which he doesn’t.

Sara just walked in on him and Mick drinking together in the cargo bay, made some bullshit excuse, and walked out again. And not for the first time in the past month or so. She’s avoiding him, and he hates it.

Ever since she first kissed him at the Oculus, when he barely survived and realised how short life can be, he’s known he needs to grasp every opportunity for happiness - with her. He’s really trying to make this work, for once in his waste of a life.

He might love her, he thinks with a shock of recognition.

He glances up at the only other person he’s ever felt anything like that for, and sighs.

“Play a damn card, Snart,” Mick rumbles, opposite him on the floor.

Len’s been teaching Mick to play gin, and he's not such a patient opponent as Sara.

He stretches out his legs and sighs again. The Jack of Hearts is staring up at him. It would make a good run with his Queen, but it looks like a risky strategy.

Mick is regarding him with the uncomfortable look of one who has known him for too many years. “This is girl troubles, ain’t it?”

Len’s used to deflecting around Mick. He’s also used to Mick seeing right through it. And right now, he can’t be fucked with any of it. He shoves his cards away along the floor, letting his head drop back against the hard, cold wall. He’s silent for a minute, while Mick raises an almost-amused eyebrow. “Don’t know for sure what’s wrong,” he says eventually. “But I think maybe she’s jealous.”

Mick, of course, doesn’t need any clarification about why. “You tried talking to her?”

“Not exactly.” He realises that the metallic drumming is his fingers against the floor, and stills them. No tells here. “Been trying to figure it out. But she’s gone… distant.”

Frowning at his cards, Mick has fallen suspiciously quiet.

“What?” 

Mick just shrugs. But there’s something… Len sits back and looks at him. Really looks at him, for the first time in a while. Since he started being distracted. By Sara.

Len’s known his partner for a long, long time. He can tell the difference between the everyday grumpy bastard Mick, and a Mick who’s hurting. There’s something in the set of his eyes, the fist tight around his beer bottle. The way he’s still not looking at Len. “Mick,” he warns. _“What?”_

“We ain’t exclusive,” he mumbles.

Len freezes. The phrase ‘not exclusive’ may be an _accurate_ description, but it’s as far from the reality of their relationship as Mick could have got.

Mick’s been the one constant in Len’s life, for a very long time. Len’s relied on him through some of the worst shit, shown him weakness he’d never risk revealing to anyone else. He trusted Mick with his back in juvie and prison. With his life, more times than he can count. Fuck, he even trusted him with _Lisa,_ when Lewis was at his worst and they had to get out fast, and she still had to be fed and taken to school, and big, lumbering Mick was unexpectedly gentle with a kid who needed it. (With two kids who did.) Len could never put a label on what they’ve been to each other, whether they’re sleeping with each other, or temporarily on the outs because one of them screwed up. And damn, did they both screw up a lot. But here they still are, after all of it.

And now there’s Sara. It’s different. She caught him by surprise, a bright light in all the darkness they’d both lived through. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. But he can’t help how he feels about her.

About either of them.

“What?” he asks, a minute later, when he realises Mick is still staring at him.

Mick says nothing.

Len takes a slow breath, starts to—

He picks up his cards.

“Never mind,” he murmurs. He looks at the Jack on the pile of cards. “Pass,” he says.

* * *

**Lian Yu, Now**

Sara gets tired out, and they only make it a mile or so before they have to abandon the effort.

 _...Only._ Len doesn’t know many other people who could walk a mile on a broken leg, supported or not. She’s… amazing. He doesn’t _think_ she notices him trying not to smile at her as he they set her up in the abandoned plane they find a little way inland. She grimaces at the place, but won’t say why - but it’s not like there’s much choice of accommodation.

And now they’ve been looking for the herbs they need, for two hours. No luck. When they left Sara there - alone - her face was turning a weird shade of gray, and he’s not sure it was just from the pain. Len is starting to understand why she’s not fond of this place. She’s described the herbs she needs and where to find them, but they’re nowhere. It’s like the island hates them.

“Seriously, what did I do to you?” Len mutters, as he withdraws his hand from a thorny patch of brambles that just bit him, and finds that the herb he pulled away wasn’t even the right one. The flowers are the wrong shape and color. He glares at it and waves it at Mick. “See? Place hates us.”

Mick huffs. “You’re losing it, boss. An island can’t hate you.”

“This one can… Hang on.” He’s caught a glimpse of something on the steep, grassy bank ahead of them. It looks like the right flower. He takes a run at the bank.

And falls on his ass, tumbling backwards till he lands back next to Mick.

He yells a curse, pointedly ignoring the laughing next to him. “I hope you’ll be happy if we all die here,” he snarls at the silent sky.

The dry leaves on the ground rustle as Mick sits down next to him. “Don’t think that’s the right one either,” he muses. “Stop worrying. We’ll find it.”

Len says nothing. Just stares out at the open, empty sea stretching out ahead of them - that she very nearly drowned in.

Sara can’t die.

She can’t die _here._

He rubs a hand across his face, realising there’s been a silent hand on his back the whole time.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Mick murmurs. “We’re gonna find the herbs and then we’re gonna find the jump ship. If it won’t fly, we’ll set up the time beacon and they’ll rescue us.” He grins at Len. “It’s your plan.”

“More hers than mine.” She’s the real survivor. He just falls on his ass and gives in when the going gets tough.

When there’s... situations… that he should be resolving.

“She trusts you,” Mick says.

“She shouldn’t.” He kicks at the leaves. _Why_ is he screwing this up? When he should know better by now?

A snort, and Mick pats his shoulder a few times. “Take that up with the dumbass who does. And hey, none of that. We got a job to do.”

Right. They always have each other’s backs on a job. Mick has his. Len has to have Sara’s.

He accepts Mick’s hand and lets him pull him up. Locks eyes with him for a moment. He’s never seen more clearly how much they _both_ care about Sara.

“Okay then,” he says, leading the way as they trudge off again through the bleak forest.

The right herbs catch his eye a few minutes later.

* * *

**The Waverider, One Month Earlier**

Mick is, at this point, thoroughly sick of the both of them.

So, yeah, he corners Blondie in the kitchen. What else was he supposed to do? He just wants a quiet life. A less whiny partner. That’s all.

“Morning, Captain,” he says, as cheerfully as he can manage.

He’s aiming to give the impression of appearing out of nowhere, much earlier in the morning than she’d expect him to be awake. She’s an assassin, so of course she doesn’t even look surprised - but Mick reckons he’s caught her off guard, sitting there staring into space over her eggs. “Morning,” she says back, watching him with a suspicious look.

Mick starts getting out the fixings for a big breakfast. As he works, he says, “You and Snart talked yet?”

Her narrow-eyed stare speaks for itself. So they’re still being fucking idiots.

“‘Cause I figure you and I should talk too,” he goes on.

Now he’s really got her attention. She starts moving to get up.

He turns off the stove and sits down opposite her.

“Ambushing me, Mick?” she says, clearly unimpressed. But she doesn’t make any more moves to leave, looking at him just curiously enough.

He slurps his coffee and sighs. He could really use a drink before talking about feelings, but she’d frown on that at 8 in the morning.

“Well?” she asks, tapping the table. She’s nervous.

People have accused Mick of being many things, over the years. Blunt. Tactless. A fucker of a bastard (that last one is mainly Snart). But he gets the job done. Doesn’t sit around pretending nothing’s wrong when shit needs airing. And the shit really needs airing right now - the place is starting to stink. “Heard you were jealous.”

Her eyes snap up from the table to meet his, and back again just as fast. But she doesn’t leave. He takes it as permission to keep going. “Here’s the thing, Sara. Me and him? We been to hell and back together, more than a few times. Since we were hardly more than kids.” He meets her shrewd gaze, where it’s just starting to soften at the edges. “Heard you had someone like that once, too.”

She inclines her head, just once, but her eyes say all they need to. Bingo.

He frowns at his coffee cup. “I ain’t looking to replace you, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t looking to replace me. I could never be what you are to him, and, well…”

She coughs. “Likewise.”

“So what’s the problem?”

She runs a hand through her hair. “The problem is, he’s the one who should be telling me this.”

“He should. But he’s a jackass with too much pride who thinks feelings make him weak. Or he did, before…” He waves his hand around the kitchen. “All this. You.”

She’s silent for so long, just staring at the table, that he shrugs and starts to get up.

And pauses. Puts a hand on her shoulder. “It ain’t just _about_ him, though. We’re here too. He just forgets that sometimes.” He shrugs again. “Used to it. We’ll remind him.”

“Why?” she murmurs, watching him from behind her coffee mug. “Why do you care? Why aren’t you - I don’t know - jealous?”

He tightens his hand against her shoulder. “Not saying I wasn't, at first. But... Damn, Sara. You really got no idea, do you?” She shakes her head in confusion, and he smiles, softer than he means to. “You’re incredible. One of a kind. You’re badass, but you’re not so hard nothing can touch you - you care about every single person on this damn tin bucket. ‘S why you’re a born leader. Deep down you still think you’re this fucked-up mess, and it’s sad, ‘cause you’re so much more than you know.” He shrugs. “Just hope Snart knows it.”

Where before she wouldn’t look at him, now it seems like she can’t look away.

He leans down to kiss the top of her head. Her eyes widen, just for a second.

And then he figures he’s done enough pretending he has a heart for one day, and heads off to find a Haircut to annoy.

“Oh,” he says from the door, “and you’re hot, too.”

He doesn’t look back to see her response.

* * *

**Lian Yu, Now**

“Well, the jump ship is a bust,” Len is saying down the communications relay to Sara. “Whole side is smashed in. We set up the time beacon.”

_“And they responded?”_

“Yup. But there’s temporal storms in the time stream - that’s why we crashed jumping out of it. Jax can bring the ship in when the interference passes. They should reach us tomorrow.”

She doesn’t sound too happy about that. Probably understandable, Mick thinks, as he peers into the engine. He might not be an engineer, but he knows enough mechanics, and has spent enough time in the Waverider engine room, to spot fried time jump circuits when he sees them. They really are stuck here for the night.

“Well, this sucks ass,” Snart says, appearing at his elbow. “We can’t stay here - the whole thing might collapse in on us.”

Mick grunts his agreement. “Got the security masts?”

Snart waves the three poles at him. They’ll cloak anything they place them around. “Let’s hope they hold all night.”

“They will. Installed ‘em myself.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Snart drawls, and Mick looks up to grin at him. Snart’s leaning against the hull of the jump ship, one leg folded over the other, a picture of indifference. But Mick knows all his tells. Snart’s hands are twitching like he wants to lift a wallet - that’s always the first sign of trouble. And he’s hypervigilant, eyes darting all over the place. Comes from too many years not trusting anyone to watch his back. Except Mick.

Damn, he really cares about her. Mick doesn’t think he’s ever seen him fall for anyone like this. It could stick, too. They’re good for each other. He’s happy for them.

Snart starts moving to head out. Mick puts a hand on his arm, waiting for his familiar freeze response to relax before he says anything. “Word of advice, partner,” he says, striking while the heat gun’s hot, as it were. “Freebie from someone who knows you too well. Stop screwing this up. You’re gonna regret it. She’s worth a hell of a lot more’n that.”

Snart’s jaw tightens.

“Quit that and listen to me.” Mick raises an eyebrow before Snart’s sharp blue gaze can dart away again. “You trust me?”

Mick feels him relax just a little more. “Of course,” he replies without hesitation.

“She deserves better than your bullshit,” Mick says. “She’s a fucking treasure, okay? She just… she deserves better.” He raises his eyes to cloudless skies, reluctantly adding, “And so do you.”

Blue eyes flicker to the left again. “And what about you, hmm?”

“Like I said. We ain’t never been exclusive.” He smiles. “Don’t need to be. We weren’t ever about that.”

Fixing him with a stare again, Snart nods slowly. He reaches up and squeezes Mick’s hand where it’s still clamped against his arm.

And Mick lets go.

As they trudge off, Mick adds, as an afterthought, “And she could still end up getting along with me too.” At Snart’s amused blink, he adds, “What? I’m hot.”

Snart laughs most of the way back to the plane. Mick’s almost offended.

* * *

**Waverider, One Day Ago**

Sprawled out on the step up to the parlor, Mick growls. Loudly.

Snart and Sara don’t even notice. Just keep right on bickering.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she’s saying, hands on her hips, death in her eyes. “I didn’t realise you’d stolen the captaincy in the night.” She gives a sarcastic wave at the control panel. “Take over the whole mission, why don’t you?”

“I’d be delighted,” he drawls back, and the asshole actually steps up to the controls. Mick is rolling his eyes at the bridge ceiling, but Snart doesn’t notice - just keeps pushing his luck. “It’s a simple anachronism. I’ll go alone. Be in and out in an hour.”

“I must advise,” comes Gideon’s disembodied voice, “that there are often unusual temporal storms in this region of the time stream. While it is true that the anachronism must be fixed as quickly as possible, you should nonetheless _not_ go alone. I would recommend a team of three.”

Mick hasn’t seen his partner pout like that in ages.

“Oh,” Sara says through a smug grin, “I guess you _don’t_ actually know everything about everything, Snart. Funny, that.”

Mick gets up, pointing between the two of them. “Shut up,” he growls. “Both of you. _Now.”_

If these two don’t get out of their heads and do something productive, they’re going to kill each other. Unless Mick does it first.

“Come on, then,” he snaps at the boss and the captain, who both suddenly look like they’ve frozen solid. He storms off the bridge. Heat gun raised, in case either of them objects.

Len starts with the whining before they even reach the jump ship. “Uh, Mick…?”

Mick just keeps walking.

At the door to the jump ship, he turns around, folding his arms and staring them down. “I,” he says, with the most threatening glower he can manage, “have had it with the both of you.” He nods at Sara. “You ain’t talking to him.” He glares at Snart. “You ain’t talking to her. And neither of you’s listening to me, and I’m probably the only one around here who’s got a lick of sense in his head.”

Sara and Snart stare at him, wide-eyed, and don’t interrupt. Good.

“So here’s the thing. We’re gonna get on this rusty tin can of a ship—” he slams his hand against the jump ship door— “and we’re gonna go fix this anachronism in the Atlantic—”

“Pacific,” Sara corrects.

He glares at her again. “One ocean’s same as any other. And _then_ we’re gonna come back here and have a proper conversation. About us.” He switches his glare to Len. “And no one’s gonna deflect like a bastard who thinks their heart froze over when they picked up the cold gun, and no one _else_ is gonna get defensive and pretend nothing’s wrong because they’re a big bad assassin who doesn’t need anyone.” He spins back to stare hard at Sara again for good measure. “You both got that?”

“Yes, Mick,” they say in unison, like misbehaving school kids, and he manages not to laugh. It would have undermined his point a bit.

He slams his hand on the door panel. The door slides open with an almost imperceptible hiss. Mick raises an eyebrow and gestures for the two of them to file in ahead of him.

“Idiots,” he mutters as he climbs in after them.

* * *

**Lian Yu, Now**

Sara doesn’t panic.

She doesn’t freak out when Len radios in to tell her that the jump ship is a no-go.

She holds it together when she hears the Waverider won’t be there till the morning.

She’s even okay when Len reassures her that they’re coming back with security masts so that they can spend all night in this godforsaken fucking place.

And then she’s alone on this hell of an island a little too long, and something snaps.

She doesn’t realise she’s crying till she hears rustling outside the open entrance to the hideout.

“Go and find me some more of those herbs, would you?” she hears Len tell Mick. “Looks like I didn’t get as many as I wanted.”

She’s got her eyes closed, but she feels a warm body sit down next to her on the sleeping mat. “You’re shaking,” he says, low and careful.

“I’m fine,” she chokes out, and a fresh round of tears starts. She lets out a noise of frustration, because fuck it, _she’s better than this._

“Can I touch you?” he asks even more quietly. She nods, and then there are strong arms around her. She breathes into the smell of his leather jacket and the safety of his touch.

And, God - was she really thinking about giving this up? What a fool she’s been.

“I just need a minute,” she murmurs, and he nods against her. His scruff tickles her cheek, and she giggles.

“What?”

“Nothing.” A long pause, while he just holds her, stroking her back. “I’ve missed this,” she says when she’s feeling calmer.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Sorry for… all this,” she says, pulling away and wiping her eyes.

With an arm still tight around her, he shakes his head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Pushed to leave too soon. My fault we’re here.”

“Pretty much,” she agrees ruefully, but she can smile again.

He’s frowning at her with concerned eyes. “What can I do?”

She nods at the herbs he’s holding. “Boil those into a tea.” She shrugs. “And talk to me.”

She has to walk him through how to make a campfire, which has her laughing at him for sending away the guy who actually has the relevant skills, but soon enough she’s sipping the tea - wincing at the bitter taste - and listening to him tell her about prison, of all things. They’re sitting up at the back of the plane, by the windows. As he tells her about a fight that left him with his own broken leg and a dozen other bad injuries, she’s staring out over the sea.

It’s shrouded in fog. She still can’t see the Amazo.

He bumps her shoulder, oh so gently. “That stretch in prison was one of the worst I had,” he says, his tone clearly meant to suggest he’s just idly musing. “Going back two years later was intense.”

She turns around to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Think you’re subtle, do you?”

He flashes her a grin. It fades fast, and he starts fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “I mean it. Sometimes these things catch up with you when you’re not expecting it. Doesn’t make you weak.”

She tries for a more sincere smile. “I know.”

He scowls at his hands. “I’ve been a complete asshole, haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t quite…” He raises an eyebrow at her and she grins. “Yeah, okay, you have.” She grabs his hand and holds it tight, not liking that dark expression crossing his face. “Hey, Len? Look at me.”

Reluctant blue eyes silently meet hers.

“We’ve both been idiots, and it’s not really your fault that we’re stuck here.” She huffs a laugh. “Freezing me out for a month or two, _that_ was a little bit your fault.” His smile at her is wry, but warm. She almost says something about the melting of the frost, but thinks better of it. “Next time, we talk to each other.” She squeezes his hand. “I was only jealous because I... thought I was gonna lose you.”

He nods slowly.

She shrugs. “I get it now. I’m not.”

“Never,” he breathes. There’s a tight look of wonder on his face. Only one other person in the world has ever looked at her like that. She never wants Len to stop. She'll make sure he doesn’t ever have to.

They look up at the noise by the door. Mick Rory is bringing in two huge plucked chickens. Catching sight of their faces, he snorts, says, “City kids,” and takes the damn things back outside.

“Uh, do we want to know where you got those?” Sara calls out.

“Nope,” he calls back cheerfully. Sticking his head back in, he adds, “Just be happy I set up the security masts. No one can see us. No chance of retaliation!”

Next to her, Len makes a strangled noise, which Mick ignores.

“Dinner’ll be twenty minutes or so.” He glares at Len. “More if I have to rebuild this fire from scratch. What are you even _for,_ boss?” He doesn’t stick around for Len to answer, which is probably for the best.

Once he’s done rolling his eyes at Mick’s retreating back, Len asks her, “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” The cut on her hip is looking much less angry, for a start.

He shakes his head. “You’re getting your color back. Magic herbs... I swear, this place is crazy.”

She chuckles. “You’re telling me.”

Dinner is served up on pieces of slate that Len found somewhere. “Get me outside,” she says. She’s more than done with the damn plane. Mick obliges.

And now they’re sitting under the stars, moon rising over the ocean ahead of them, where the fog is clearing. And, really, it could be worse. She sits with her back against a rock and listens to the two of them banter.

“He ever tell you,” Mick says through a mouth full of chicken, “that when he was younger, his cooking was so bad that him and little sis lived on boxed mac and cheese whenever I wasn’t around?”

Len makes a face. “Exaggeration.”

 _“Barely._ I think you learnt how to make spaghetti sauce out of a jar after a year or so.”

Len tilts his head with a smile. “Maybe I didn’t want to raise the already-significant fire risk.”

“Wasn’t me who set a pan of boiled eggs on fire last year.”

“Exactly.”

Mick makes a rude gesture at him and raises an eyebrow at Sara, and she laughs. She has to admit, his cooking is impressive. They’re stranded on an island, and he’s made food that tastes like it’s come from the Waverider kitchen.

She could get used to this.

...She _wants_ to get used to this.

She pushes away her makeshift plate. Coughs. Two sets of very shrewd eyes meet hers. Okay then. “Is this a good time for that chat, boys?”

They both look like deer caught in headlights, just for a very amusing second.

Highlights from Len include “I didn’t know how to explain,” and the moment when he suddenly, quietly says, “In my defense, I fuck up everything good in my life.” (She snorts and asks how that’s a defense. He just shakes his head and, for a fleeting moment that she might have imagined, looks achingly sad.)

Gems from Mick include “The boss is a fucking asshole and you’re too good for him,” and the moment when he kisses her. (She ignores Len’s shocked-but-not-disapproving noises, and kisses Mick back, surprised at how much she wants him. At how gentle he is.)

Later, when she ends up with her head in Len’s lap while Mick runs his fingers through her hair, she looks up into that bleak sky she will always remember too well, and points out constellations that she hasn’t seen in years. She was right. The stars always were beautiful here.

Only thing that was.

In the quiet of night, where secrets feel safer, she tells them things about this place, and the Amazo, that she’s never told another living soul.

They don’t interrupt. Maybe Len’s arms tighten around her; maybe Mick’s fingers go still in her hair, taking up their caresses again a little more gently. But they let her talk.

Much later, Len says, “So. Are we doing this? All three of us?”

“I don’t do relationships,” growls a sleepy-sounding Mick, hands soft and warm in her hair.

“Sure,” Len says, and winks at her. “My my, look at the time. And there’s exactly one sleeping mat back there. Whatever shall we do?”

Under his breath, Mick mutters something probably insulting. But a few minutes later, he has his arms wrapped around Sara from behind - before Len has even joined them on the mat.

As she starts to drift off, Sara hears herself whisper, “I gotta get Amaya a present.”

Mick yawns in her ear. “Why?”

“Huh? Oh, she told me to talk to you guys. Said it might not be as complicated as I thought it was.”

On her other side, Len makes an approving noise. “Good thing someone on that flying bucket has a lick of sense. There should definitely be a gift basket or something.” He doesn’t flinch when Sara wraps her arms around him from behind, and a warmth spreads through her chest. When she falls quiet again, he reaches back and pokes her. “When was this? Just before we left?”

“Um,” Sara says, glad he can’t see her face. “No…”

It’s too dark to see, but she imagines Len and Mick silently raising their eyebrows in sync.

“Four months ago,” she admits, when the expectant silence gets annoying.

She falls asleep to the sound of Len chuckling and Mick quietly cracking up. With her arms tight around Len, and Mick’s arms tight around her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Hale and Green_Sphynx for beta reading, and to Thette for commenting on various sections.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: SophiaInSpace


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